


Zip Me

by TheBraveHobbit



Series: Taut [19]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:42:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBraveHobbit/pseuds/TheBraveHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Zip Me <br/>Character: Marius/Courfeyrac<br/>Summary: Marius’ grandfather is getting married. Marius has got a bad case of the nerves, and Courfeyrac tries to help steady him. Follow up to "Dancing Lessons"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zip Me

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my sandbox-style Modern!AU: Taut  
> Additional content can be found on my tumblr: elfjolras.tumblr.com

How was Courfeyrac so composed? Marius had been listening to his heart echo in his ears for the past three hours. He loved his grandfather dearly, despite their differences, and he was terrified of saying or doing something that might embarrass M. Gillenormand on today of all days. He certainly had been accused of it before. Unable to contain his fidgeting, Marius had taken to pacing back and forth, only half-dressed and verging on a panic.

“He’s eighty. He has no business getting married.”

“He’s eighty; he deserves every happiness he can find.”

Marius pulled a face. “He’s not the marrying type. What if this ends badly?”

“She seems more than capable of holding her own.”

“My aunt is displeased.”

“Your aunt is always displeased.” Courfeyrac’s tone was easy, without accusation. “Come on, isn’t it nice to have her displeased with someone other than yourself, for a change?” He smiled without effort as he studied his reflection. Formal wear suited him. There was so little that didn’t.

“I’m sure she’ll be back to it, soon enough. You look—” Marius trailed off, unable to conjure an acceptable adjective.

“Thank you.” Courfeyrac abandoned the mirror and pushed Marius in front of it, catching his arm as his paces brought him within reach. Marius stumbled a bit, frowning at his reflection. His suit was not as fine as Courfeyrac’s; it was rented and though it fit acceptably well, he thought it looked a bit frayed and faded. To his eye, it hung as though it were a borrowed suit, where Courfeyrac’s seemed to have been stitched for him alone. “Your tie is crooked.”

“Ack!” Marius reached to adjust it, but Courfeyrac batted his fingers away, adjusting the silver fabric with quick, practiced motions. When he had finished, he swung Marius’ coat over the ensemble and began to fasten the buttons, batting at Marius again when he tried to help.

“You’ll muss it.” He scolded, smoothing the tie down Marius’ chest and tweaking the collar of the suit until he was satisfied with how it lay. “You’re fretting again.”

Marius whimpered a little. “I’m going to trip. I’m going to trip over my own stupid feet.”

“Nonsense. I protest the assault upon the character of your feet; they’re extraordinarily clever, though you might consider wearing shoes to this affair. Where’d you set them? Have you got your speech?”

“Right here.” Marius patted his breast pocket with trembling fingers, mouth going dry at the prospect of the toast he would have to give.

Courfeyrac grinned. “Excellent. Shoes?”

Marius gestured, and Courfeyrac crossed the room to fetch them. “Sit down.” He ordered, and Marius obeyed, falling backwards into one of the luxurious winged chairs of his grandfather’s estate. Courfeyrac knelt and slid the shoes onto Marius’ feet one at a time, tugging the laces to be certain they would not come undone during the ceremony.

“There, you’re all set.” Courfeyrac stood and pulled Marius up with him, squeezing his hands as he tugged them back to the mirror, loopining his arms around Marius’ waist and resting his chin on Marius’ shoulder as they studied their reflection. “Look at that; what a handsome couple we make! We’ll be the envy of the whole room, excepting, of course, the lucky lovebirds of the day.”

Marius felt his face flush. “I’ll be envied, at least. They’ll pity you, for being on my arm.”

“You’re ridiculous. Are you still so worried? Your dancing is much improved and you give wonderful speeches once you get them started. We both know you can do this, Marius.”

“I’m just nervous.”

“Here, then.” Courfeyrac stepped in front of Marius, pressing his back to Marius’ front. Marius let his boyfriend catch his hands, tugging Marius’ arms about himself. “How about an incentive?”

“I’m a little afraid to ask.”

“You shouldn’t be.” Courfeyrac was still holding Marius’ fingers. Moving suddenly, he thrust Marius’ hand into his trousers, tugging up the tuck of his shirt to press Marius’ fingers to his hipbone. Marius flushed, suddenly hot all over. His reflection was mortified, bright red with his astonishment. Courfeyrac looked pleased.

“Wh-what are you—?” The fabric against Marius’ touch felt like—

“Silk. Care to guess the color?”

“I-”

“Well, if you survive this wedding, you can find out first hand. How’s that?”

“I-I’m suddenly much more concerned with surviving until the wedding. I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.” How was he supposed to remember how to conduct himself if Courfeyrac kept this up? Breathing was important. He wouldn’t be able to dance without breathing, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to give a speech without air.

Courfeyrac’s grin widened, and he turned to press their lips together. Marius’s hands shifted, sliding up Courfeyrac’s sides to rest there, though he’d completely undone Courfeyrac’s outfit. The shirt would have to be retucked and the jacket adjusted. Courfeyrac didn’t seem to care, refusing to move his lips from Marius’ as he said, “I have every faith in you, love.”


End file.
